I darted downstairs. Not caring if I tripped. Not caring that the passageway quickly became a pitch-dark pit. I couldn’t run fast enough to escape Jane’s words hammering in my head. I stopped and covered my ears with my hands, willing myself to blot out the noise.
“It isn’t true,” I said aloud. “Lies.” My parents loved me. Underneath their anger about the fire, my experiments, the card party, and everything else, surely they loved me. They had to. They must.
And yet they’d left me in this vile place.
Was I too peculiar? Did I frighten them, as Jane suggested? I leaned my forehead against the moldy wall, mourning the fact that the lies weren’t Jane’s. They were mine.
Our families should’ve seen our worth. Instead, they’d sent us away. I felt sick. My hands dropped to my sides, useless. My life was over. I would be whipped into shape or tortured to death. One way or the other my parents would be rid of me. At least, they would be rid of the real me—weird, peculiar, frightening me.
I didn’t cry. Oh, I may have choked on a few salty streaks of weakness that slid onto my lips. But I didn’t cry. Blubbering was pointless. I wanted to kick something, not cry. I swiped the offending moisture from my cheeks, brushed the grime from my brow, and trudged blindly down the steps. Down, down into hell and forever, around another corner, up another flight, and that’s when I realized I was lost.
Again.
Furious, I slammed my hand against the wall. My reward was a palm full of moldy plaster and splinters. Clenching my teeth, I knocked off the debris and plucked at the slivers. Neither anger nor despair would do me any good. This situation required a logical, analytical approach.
Fact: the panel to the dormitorium lay somewhere in this passage.
Fact two: at the very least, I should be able to find another exit into the house.
Fact three: unlike my other problems, this one was solvable.
Even in thick darkness, deep in a tangled maze, there are telltale indications of the terrain. If one stands very still, faint drafts of air tease the senses and briefly relieve the stuffiness, and there are minute sounds. I stilled my thundering heart, calmed my ragged breathing, and listened.
Blocking out the patter of mice, ignoring the surges of wind buffeting the outer wall, I heard the low whistle of air through an opening.
A panel. I hurried to check. But my toe stubbed against a block of wood. The wood flipped sideways as if on a hinge. The floor beneath my foot sagged.
My next step fell on nothingness.
No wood.
No stone.
Nothing.
My elbow smacked against the mouth of the trapdoor. I dropped into blackness. A rush of cold air swallowed my shriek. Wind billowed out my nightdress as I spiraled down a chute, falling, sliding, bumping, scraping against the rough sides. Rocks and debris peppered my shoulders and face. I flung my arms up to shield myself as I plummeted down the black pit.
It seemed to drop forever. Yet, it must’ve been only seconds before the shaft opened to a broad expanse of air.
No more walls.
A dim light.
Swoosh. I plunged into icy water. Suspended in murky green darkness. Salt and foam flooded into my mouth and nose. I sank amid a torrent of bubbles.
Shock held me captive. Disoriented. Lost. Sinking.
I came to my senses, owing to a desperate need to breathe. Clawing frantically at the water, I followed the rising bubbles toward the surface, paddling like a dog. A drowning dog. At last, I broke through the waves, gagging and sputtering, half blind with confusion.
It took me a moment to realize where I was. Waves sloshed against the sides of a cave. I recognized the flickering oil lamp as it hissed from where it hung on a rough-hewn docking post. I, gulping and grappling, half swimming, half drowning, bobbed my way to the rowboat. No sooner had I grabbed hold of the prow when I spotted something unthinkable sitting against the far wall. My heart nearly spewed out of my throat along with the seawater I’d swallowed.
A skeleton. Bones wearing a tattered pink gown. A noose hung around its neck and a faded placard warned: BEWARE THE HANGMAN’S WALTZ!
I screamed, lost my grip on the rowboat and sank once again beneath the dark waves.
When I burst back up through the surface my nightdress ballooned under my arms. I angrily flung away a strand of seaweed, spit out fishy seawater, and shook off my fear. Bones could not hurt me. But the monsters who’d left that girl here to rot certainly could. I swam for the boat with grim determination. Fate had offered me a chance to escape Stranje House and I intended to take it.
Except when I tried to pull myself into the rowboat the ruddy thing tipped, almost to the point of flipping over. So, I swam, or rather thrashed, toward the dock and heaved myself onto the stone ledge like a great flopping fish. I lay there shivering, a wet muddy mess. As soon as I caught my breath, I took one last look at the skeleton with her ghastly warning, and climbed aboard the rowboat.
The skiff was surprisingly well equipped. In the stern, atop a box of supplies, lay a woolen blanket, which I immediately wrapped around me. Inside the box I found a bottle of brandy and a neatly wrapped parcel containing bread and cheese. Having had very little to eat that day I ripped off a hunk of bread and took a quick bite. That would have to do for now. I needed to get under way before Captain Grey and Sebastian returned for their boat.
It had to be theirs. Most likely the two of them were smugglers. Or pirates. Lord Wyatt, indeed! That couldn’t possibly be his real name. Sebastian was no gentleman. And even if he was, it didn’t matter. Their rowboat was mine now. I set the two oars into place and tugged the rope loose from the docking post.
Rowing proved trickier than I’d expected. The boat banged against the cave walls a number of times. The oars knocked one side or the other so often, it was a small wonder the entire household did not come running. I battled the current and managed to maneuver the craft toward the small mouth of the cave. Luck was with me. I caught an outgoing wave, ducking as the dinghy thumped and bumped its way through the low arch to freedom.
Stars blinked in and out as clouds raced across the inky sky.
I’d done it. I had escaped.
Surf roared in my ears and the rowboat lifted high atop a wave. I set to the oars, suddenly aware that the cave had provided shelter from the wind and this violent tide. It took every ounce of my strength to keep the skiff from crashing against the rocky shore. I rowed like mad, but the sea lifted up the boat and tossed it down as if it was a child’s toy.
I’d escaped, but to what end. Death?
The thought of drowning in that dark sea, of sinking unnoticed and unremembered into a vast unmarked grave, of being eaten by indifferent fish and scavenging snails made a shudder run through me. Fear gave way to a warming anger. I would not surrender to death. Not without giving it a good fight.
I rowed harder, leaning into every stroke. My life depended on it. Waves pelted me. Salt bit against my cheeks. Wind whipped the blanket from my shoulders, but I dared not stop to adjust it. I put my back into the task of rowing, lifting off the seat to push harder. Even with my newfound strength the oars grew heavier and more awkward with every stroke.
Waves splashed over the sides, turning my woolen blanket into a sodden mess, filling the hull with frigid water, sloshing against my calves. I pulled in the oars, grabbed the bucket from the corner in order to bail, but the boat started to spin and tilt to one side. I rushed to put out the paddles again. The left oar slipped from the blocks. I lunged for it, but my fingers only grazed the handle before it sank in the swells.
The next wave slapped me soundly for my stupid mistake.
No time for regrets—not if I wanted to live. I struggled with the lone oar, trying to distance myself from the deadly rocky shore. It seemed like I rowed forever and yet the outline of the cliffs still loomed perilously close. My arms ached and I couldn’t stop shivering. The contents of my stomach had long since left me. Over and over, the boat rose heavenward six or seven feet and then dropped like a stone into a trough. Miraculously it didn’t capsize.
Exhausted from being tossed about like an unwanted doll, I yearned for solid land. The rowboat rode up the back of a gigantic swell. This time, instead of plunging off into a valley of water and being thrashed by the falling wave, we stayed atop the curl. I have never moved so fast in all my life.
Moonlight exposed the beach. All rocks. As the sea flung me toward the cliffs I realized the little boat would be smashed to pieces. I wrapped the soggy blanket around me, crouched low, and braced myself against the crosspiece.
I remember a splintering crunch, and the marvelous sensation of flying through the air. After that, I only recall my head thudding against stone.
Hot white fireworks.
And the sudden inability to draw breath.
It’s quite possible I may have died. I’m not certain. It’s all rather hazy. I do remember feeling terribly cold. Then sinking into a peaceful warmth.
Oblivion.
I didn’t regain my senses until morning when the sun stabbed through my stupor. Light made the throbbing worse—pain at the back of my skull so intense it felt as though someone was beating me rhythmically with a big stick. I kept my eyelids closed tight until something scratchy and moist slid across my cheek. I squinted and peeked out of one eye.
Two yellow eyes stared back.
Dark fur. Teeth.
Wolf.
I gasped for air. But my lungs froze.
I meant to scream. Tried to scream. Nothing came out. Oh, God, let me drown and be eaten by fishes, please. Not torn apart by wolves. I closed my eyes tight, wishing to return to that comfortable oblivion that had consumed me during the night.
The wolf yipped softly and nudged my chest with its nose.
I shook. No, I trembled. Every part of me quaked, even my innermost parts—heart, stomach, everything. I shook with such taut rapid vibrations that nothing outwardly moved.
Something warm shifted against my back, snuffled, and pressed a wet nose into my neck. There were two of them. Two gigantic wolves very, very close. So close, I could smell their meaty breath and the musky scent of grass and dead leaves rising from their fur. So close, drool dripped onto my cheek as the one standing sniffed me. The wolf lying behind me licked my shoulder.
Hot pain pulsed at the back of my skull. Yet the rest of me felt intensely cold. I began to shiver more violently. The wolf standing over me stopped sniffing. With a low growl, he laid down and curved his enormous body into mine, pressing up against my belly. The other beast responded with a short low yip.
Were they warming up breakfast? Or preserving my soggy carcass for dinner? Their behavior made no sense and yet their heat had a calming effect on my quavering insides. Moments later the wolf in front of me lifted his head, his ears peaked. He startled me with a sharp bark and jumped to his feet. His mate did the same.
Their ruckus nearly deafened me. Finally they stopped. But my head pounded louder than ever. Despite the throbbing I heard boots running on the beach. “What is it, Phobos?” A man greeted my wolf. “Down, boy! Down.” The animal behind me growled. “Easy there, Tromos. What have you found?”
I groaned. It would be him.
“Good Lord!” Sebastian knelt beside me. “Back, Tromos, stand back. There’s a good girl.”
I kept my eyes closed as he pressed two fingers against the artery in my neck.
“Miss Fitzwilliam?” He gently shook my shoulder. “Miss Fitzwilliam, can you hear me?”
I made no sound.
Lord Wyatt whipped off his coat and laid it over me. “Captain!” he shouted, making my head hammer ferociously. “Captain! Over here. Forget the boat. It’s the girl. She’s hurt.”
Captain Grey ran up breathing hard. “Is she…?”
“Alive. But, judging by the blood, she’s injured her head.” He gently lifted my shoulder. “See? Do you think it’s safe to move her?”
“We’ve no choice. In this cold, it’s a wonder she survived the night.”
Sebastian scooped me up. “I expect Phobos and Tromos had something to do with it.”
So, these wolves had names, Greek for fear and trembling. It suited them.
Captain Grey shed his coat, too, wrapping it about my legs. “There now. Steady on, Miss Fitzwilliam. We’ll get you back to the house.” He tucked the coats around me, speaking as one does to an injured animal, soothing it, but not expecting an answer. “Take her straight to Emma,” he directed Sebastian. “She’ll know what to do. I’ll ride for a doctor. We need this girl alive.”
Ah, yes, so you can torture my ink formula out of me.
I said nothing as Sebastian carried me back to Stranje House. I decided to play dumb, pretend delirium. It wouldn’t be hard. The searing cold and throbbing pain made it difficult to think, let alone speak. But as he mounted the steep path up the cliffs, the climb jostled my head, and I moaned involuntarily.
He lengthened his stride once we got to level ground and I settled into his arms. If only he would’ve kept silent. “Wake up, Miss Ruffles.”
Ruffles. Ohhh, the evil wretch.
He shifted me against his chest. “Come on, you little termagant, I know you’re in there. Say something clever. Or ridiculous. Anything. Perhaps you might tell me why a young lady would dabble with invisible-ink formulas?”
Dabble? I almost erred and said it aloud. Dabble, indeed! My experiments constituted a great deal more than mere dabbling. How dare he? Furious, I clenched my jaw. The effort cost me. A whimper escaped.
“Miss Fitzwilliam?” He stopped walking. Sunlight filtered across my eyelids. I felt him staring at me. The rascal bent close and blew a lock of hair away from my face. “Georgiana?”
The audacity of the man—addressing me by my Christian name. I kept mum. I even managed not to shiver when he brushed the side of his finger all tickle-y and gentle against my cheek.
“Damn it,” he whispered. “Wake up.” He took off at an even faster pace than before. “You’re no good to me dead.”
No good to him dead.
How very moving. The milk of human kindness must’ve soured completely before he’d had his sip. Never mind that the man smelled of fresh linen and sunshine, he truly was a despicable wretch. The bruising pace he set nearly made me shriek with pain, but I bit my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’d awakened. I’d rather pretend to be in a coma for the rest of my life.
Sebastian pushed past the grim butler of Stranje House. “Where’s your mistress?” He whisked me into the foyer. My feet brushed against a flower arrangement on the entry table. “Speak up, man, where’s Miss Stranje?”
“The ballroom, my lord. But you can’t—my lord, wait!”
We were nearly up the stairs by then. The old fellow hurried after us, sputtering like an overheated teakettle. Sebastian kicked open the ballroom doors and strode in.
I peeked cautiously through my eyelashes, and nearly shrieked in horror. Tess, Jane, Sera, and Maya, all of them were bound with ropes to straight-backed chairs, cloth gags tied across their mouths. At the center of this ghastly semicircle stood Madame Cho, steadily thumping her stick, and consulting a timepiece. She must be punishing them because I’d escaped. I moaned.
Miss Stranje took one look at us and snapped her pocket watch shut. “Good Heavens.”
Sebastian headed straight for her, carrying me like a dripping rag across the ballroom. “I believe this belongs to you,” he said flatly.
This? He’d relegated me to a this?
Her heels clicked briskly against the wood floor as she hurried to us. “I’ve got men out searching the roads and inns for her. We’d assumed she’d run home. Why is she wet? What happened?”
“We found our boat run aground, nothing but splinters, and her sprawled out in the rocks with a head wound. Captain Grey has gone for the sawbones.”
But Miss Sadistic Stranje was already plowing none-too-gently through my matted blood-soaked hair, found my injury, and was ascertaining the exact dimensions and tenderness. It felt the size of a small thumping rabbit to me, but she declared it, “A sizeable goose egg. Has she explained herself?”
“No.” Lord Wyatt shifted me higher in his arms. “Aside from a moan here and there, she’s been unconscious.”
“Hmm.” The Queen of Cruelty peeled back one of my eyelids and arched her brow. “Oh, you’re awake. How very good of you to join us, Miss Fitzwilliam.”
No use trying to dupe her. I gave up my pretense and glanced past her, at my fellow students, bound and gagged. “What are you doing to them? It’s not their fault. They had nothing to do with my running away.” I sounded like a bleating baby goat, and so forced some strength into my voice. “You cannot mistreat them this way. I shall see you hang for it.” I attempted to shout that last bit, only to shrink back, wincing with pain. In a less boisterous manner, I warned, “I saw that girl’s bones.” At her blank stare, I added, “The dead girl in the pink gown.”
“Bones? Pink gown? What dead girl?” Miss Stranje laid her hand against my forehead. “What are you going on about?”
I thought I saw Tess and Jane exchange a flickering worried glance. But my head hurt so badly, any minute I expected everything to go black. Next it would be my bones rotting in the cave, wearing nothing but this muddy night rail. I closed my eyes.
Miss Stranje heaved a sigh. “She must be delirious.”
“I’m not.” I forced my eyes open to squint at her. My arm flopped out and I pointed at the girls squirming in their ropes to get free. “How can you be so cruel?”
A muffled sound came from Jane.
“Girls!” Miss Stranje clapped her hands. “You’re running out of time.”
“No. Please. Don’t hurt them.” I gestured weakly, my energy flagging. “You can’t.”
She clucked her tongue at me, and spoke to Sebastian in somber undertones. “She must have a fever. Would you be so good as to carry her up to the dormitorium?” With those clicking heels of hers echoing in my head, Miss Stranje tromped ahead of us to the door. “Madame Cho, I leave you to handle the situation here.”
Situation? She meant the girls. But they didn’t deserve Madame Cho’s stick. “Don’t beat them.” My plea fell on deaf ears.
“Greaves, warm some blankets, and send up broth.”
We climbed the stairs, me silent, Sebastian grim-faced. At least, he had the decency not to say any more rude things to me. By now, I expected his arms must be sorely aching, having carried me all the way from the beach. I gave him credit for not complaining. With each step, pinpricks of light flashed at the edge of my vision. I bit hard on my bottom lip to keep from whimpering. Before we reached the dormitorium, the flashes dissolved into a blind stupor. I don’t recall Sebastian leaving. I do vaguely remember someone tugging at my hair with a cloth and a comb, and a stern-faced man listening to my chest with a cone. One of the girls, Jane, I think, spooned broth into my mouth. After that, there was only sleep, dark and seemingly endless sleep.
Not restful.
A fitful, meandering miasma—over and over I relived the previous night, running in dark passages, drowning in waves, crashing on rocks, and wolves standing over me. Finally I dreamed of a huge black stallion with flames snorting from his nostrils. A mysterious stranger rode the ferocious beast. Lest the horse trample me, I ran as fast as I could, but never seemed to escape. When I turned to see him, the rider bore down even harder, laughing at my terror. Flames illuminated his face and I saw that it was that wicked devil Sebastian.
* * *
Thrashing at the covers and gasping for dear life, I opened my eyes. “Agh.” Morning poured in as someone threw back the curtains.
“About time you woke up, slugabed.”
I blinked. Tess stood silhouetted in the too-bright window. A small kitten licked my cheek, the tiny tongue tickled as she washed away the sweat of my night terrors. I squinted, grateful for the affection, relieved to have escaped wolves and a fire-breathing stallion. A wee pink nose sniffed at me, white whiskers waved merrily, and tiny red eyes—
I screamed.
It’s true. I admit it. I squawked like a Sunday chicken and shook madly at the covers, sending the vile creature skidding across the floor.
“Stop!” Tess scooped up the rat and cuddled him in the crook of her arm. “He meant you no harm.”
Had I not been half out of my mind at the time, I would’ve sworn that rat squeaked something in response to Tess’s ridiculous speech.
“Did that … that thing,” I said, and pointed, still clutching the covers. “That vermin spend the night on my bed?” I wiped my cheek. “I thought it was a kitten.”
“I daresay, Punch is as good as any kitten and twice as smart. He sensed you might be lonely. Fine way to repay his kindness.”
The other girls were up and dressed, staring at me. I remembered the gentle touch of Punch’s tongue on my cheek and felt a little ashamed. There had been some comfort in it, even if it was from a rat.
“Are you well enough to get up?” Jane sat down on the edge of the bed.
My head hurt, but it didn’t throb like it had yesterday. “Yes, I think so. How long have I been sleeping?”
“Since yesterday.” Sera tickled the rodent as it tumbled and twisted in Tess’s arms. “The doctor said to let you rest, that you’d be right as rain in the morning. Although, what is right about rain, I’ll never know.”
“And you? What did they do to you?” I asked, looking closely for new bruises. “Did Madame Cho beat you?”
Exchanging furtive glances with one another, they didn’t answer.
“You can tell me. I’ve found a way out. We can escape. There’s a cave—”
Jane patted my hand. “We know all about the cave, Georgie. It’s all right if I call you that, isn’t it?”
It was odd that she would ask permission now, after having freely used my given name in the attic. I nodded.
She straightened the edge of the quilt, not looking at me squarely. “Well then, Georgie, we all think it was awfully good of you to stand up for us the way you did.”
Sera murmured agreement, and Maya said, “Most kind.”
Tess shrugged. “Yes, fine. It was all plummy and sweet of you. But now it’s almost time for breakfast. Do you plan to come with us or shall we send up more broth?”
My stomach grumbled at the notion.
“I believe we have our answer.” Maya’s cheery voice rippled through us like a wind chime, lifting the mood. She opened my trunk and pulled out a sprigged muslin morning gown trimmed with mourning lavender and black. Although I looked ghastly in it, it would have to do. “Perhaps you would like to wear this?” She sounded uncertain.
Sera grimaced at the ugly gown, but grabbed my hand. “First, I believe you might benefit from a quick rinse in the Feetham machine.”
To my astonishment, Miss Stranje’s establishment boasted of an indoor privy. Not only that, the room contained a Cumming’s sliding valve water closet. I had begged my parents to install one of these brilliant new mechanisms at our estate. My venerable parents warned me to stop filling my head with nonsensical ideas. “Chamber pots,” they said, “have served the aristocracy of England for centuries. It gives the servants something to do during the day.”
Another contraption stood in the privy. The Feetham machine was nothing short of a miracle.
“Climb in.” Sera ordered.
Mouth still agape, I obediently stepped over the edge of a copper tub into the center of a four-legged contraption of pipes supporting a cistern overhead.
“Clothes.” Sera pointed to a stool on which I might place my night rail. Meanwhile she took hold of a hand pump and began working it vigorously. “Pull the chain, but I must warn you—”
Too late.
Eager to see it at work I yanked on the handle. “Awk! Cold. Cold.” Cold water drenched my head. I practically leaped out.
She laughed and handed me a sponge and soap. “May as well finish washing up.”
I did so with all haste. A very reviving experience. The warm towel afterward had never felt so good. Unfortunately, my curls frizzled tighter than ever. Corkscrews, my mother called my wild curls. No use trying to smooth them out. Only with excruciating effort and a hot iron could they be tamed. Thank goodness the machine had washed out the blood and sand. I sighed, grabbed a ribbon from my portmanteau, and tied back my tangled mop.
Maya helped me pull the dress over my head, and tie the side tapes. I took the opportunity to ask, “Why were all of you tied in chairs? What did Madame Cho do to you?”
“If you plan on coming with us, stop talking and hurry up.” Tess sniffed impatiently. “You’ve taken too long already. We aren’t allowed to be late.” She deposited Punch with Judy behind the secret panel and latched it. “I, for one, do not intend to miss breakfast.”
I jammed on my kid slippers and followed Tess and the others downstairs, wondering what was in store for me. Considering my quite literal fall from grace, what would Miss Stranje do to me? I had no desire to spend the day locked inside a metal sarcophagus lined with sharp nails.